The Makings of a Strong Mind
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: "I'm telekinetic," Sherlock said bluntly. John looked up at Sherlock again. "... Sorry, what?" [Telekinetic!lock AU.]


**The Makings of a Strong Mind**

John never paid much attention to it. Sure, there was a thing or two that ended up falling to the floor for no reason, books, trinkets, clothes. But John didn't pay much attention because the flat was so stuffed with Sherlock's tat that it hardly surprised him. Sometimes, he was in wonder that all of the books didn't come tumbling out from the case when Sherlock pulled one from the crowded shelves, or how things couldn't fall from the mantelpiece when Sherlock was fighting with criminals within the flat.

On one particular occasion, a thankfully empty beaker from the kitchen table had exploded into hundreds of tiny glass shards, coinciding spectacularly with a sudden outburst of anger from Sherlock. John had nearly fallen out of his chair in surprise, and Sherlock had looked so startled that he must have forgotten that he had been angry. John had jokingly suggested that maybe they had a friendly ghost, but Sherlock had looked so rattled about it that John had let it go.

But now he couldn't just _not pay much attention_ to it.

John stared at the teacup with wide eyes, his hand half outstretched to catch it but it was _floating in mid-air_. Even the tea that he'd had in it was half-spilled, just hanging in the middle of the air, looking for all the world like it belonged there. It wasn't moving, it wasn't dripping. Just... _hanging_ in suspension.

"Damn it!" Sherlock's sudden outburst made John jump.

The teacup wobbled before falling out of the air; Sherlock lunged forward just in time to catch it in one hand as the tea rained down onto the hardwood below.

John just stared.

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered, setting the teacup onto the stand.

John opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed it again, Sherlock glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and John finally found it himself to speak.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" he demanded, standing up. His feet splashed the tea puddle on the floor.

Sherlock retracted slightly, but he shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, turning.

John grabbed his shoulder. "Sherlock, that teacup was just _floating_ in _midair_!"

Sherlock stilled beneath his fingers. "I think you're mistaken." He didn't look back.

"The fact that you're not scoffing in my face means you saw it, too! You were upset about it, of course you saw it! What's going on?"

Sherlock sighed - not audibly, but John felt it in the way his shoulder moved. "Nothing, John."

"You're such a liar. Explain, _now_. How did you do that? You've never been the most enthusiasm when it comes to pranks, anyway, so what the hell?"

Sherlock's shoulders slumped. He turned around -

- and the curtains jerked closed, both of the stairwell doors slammed shut, and the lights clicked off in the flat.

John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Sherlock was still standing in front of him, unmoving, but as John watched him, Sherlock's eyes flicked to the doors and then there was the sound of the lock turning in the same doors.

"Sh..." John wasn't sure what he was about to say, but he found it slightly difficult to speak nonetheless.

"It's not a prank," Sherlock replied in a monotone.

"... What?"

Sherlock tilted his head back towards the sofa; John followed his gaze reflexively in time to see the pillow fly up from the sofa and careen towards them. He was just about to duck when the pillow stopped in front of him, a foot away, and hung in mid-air, just like the teacup.

John reached up for it unassuredly. He pulled it out of the air with no resistance. It was just a normal pillow. Not rigged with wires or pulleys, not that that had been likely, but...

"I would say 'now, don't freak out', but you're already doing a great job at that, so..." Sherlock trailed off, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

John looked between the pillow and Sherlock. "Sorry... I don't understand."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Twenty different pieces of paper laying loose around the flat suddenly shot into the air with a rustle, straight to the ceiling. John stepped a half step closer to Sherlock, his fingers twitching automatically for the revolver he didn't have right now. The paper rustled a bit and then burst into a storm, scattering wildly before floating down around them harmlessly like snowflakes.

"Sherlock-"

"I'm telekinetic," Sherlock replied bluntly.

John looked away from the papers and the pillow, and up at Sherlock again. "... Sorry, what?"

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "I'm telekinetic. I can move things with my mind. Hence the curtains, the doors, the research." He waved his hand generally. "The teacup. Which was an accident, I'm usually good at letting things fall, from a lifetime of practise," he added. "I don't know why I suddenly caught it. I guess I like these cups." He grinned briefly.

John didn't smile back and Sherlock's smile faded quickly.

"Uh..." Sherlock glanced towards the floor and the spilled tea. "I never told you because most people don't take well to it," he muttered. "So, on that front, I'm sorry, but if I hadn't lapsed, I still wouldn't have told you..." he trailed off. He cleared his throat.

John blinked. "... Telekinetic," he mumbled.

Sherlock glanced at him through his eyelashes. "Yes."

"It's... real."

"Very much so," Sherlock replied, "which, I realise, is a lot to take in, but..."

"Move something outside the flat."

"What?"

John squared his shoulders. "Something outside the flat."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You don't believe me- okay." He held up his hands. "Right, I wouldn't believe me, either. But I can't use telekinesis on people, well, I'm not _supposed _to... as much as I'd _love_ to sometimes," he muttered, crossing the room to the window. "So..." he pushed the curtain aside and held it there - with his hand, not his _mind_ - for John to join him. "Newspaper?" he asked absently, pointing to a bundled up newspaper across the street.

"Good," John agreed.

"Alright." Sherlock glanced both ways out the window before looking back at the paper.

Unlike with the things in their flat, the newspaper didn't _float_. But it _did_ suddenly jerk from the right side of the door where it say to the left, landing in a puddle with a small splash.

"That'll teach them to not leave their newspapers outside for longer than two days," Sherlock said brightly, then looked sideways at John. "Is that proof enough?"

John knew he was still gaping. But he couldn't help it. "You're telekinetic!"

"Yes." Sherlock smiled wryly.

"Why didn't you tell me!" John demanded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, letting the curtain fall. "Come on. You didn't even believe in telekinesis until five minutes ago."

"That's not..." John trailed off. "Okay, yeah, it is." He huffed. "But you've... be able to do _this_-" he waved to the mess in the sitting room- "all your life?"

Sherlock nodded slightly. "Well, it manifested itself the older I got, but I'm very good with it now. Unfortunately, I've nowhere to use it. It's kind of useless, actually." He shrugged. "I'd rather read people's minds or something, something that would help with case work."

Now John rolled his eyes. "Of course you would."

Sherlock smiled faintly before turning away. "So... you're alright with this?" he asked slowly, crossing the room to return to the kitchen.

"With what?" John asked.

"With the telekinesis," Sherlock said bluntly.

"Uh... it's a little bit, okay, a lot of a shock, but... it's not... I mean, it's fine." John picked up his teacup from earlier, following Sherlock into the kitchen to refill it and get a towel for the spill. "It's not, like you said, mind-reading or anything. And I've been living with you for almost two years, never seen you do anything."

Sherlock poured himself a cuppa. "Yes. Well. I do try to keep it under wraps. It tends to make people believe I'm even more of a freak than previously thought," he said dryly. "Where do you think Sally Donovan picked up the name?"

John's hand slipped on the carton of cream. "Wait. She knows?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She caught me making a piece of evidence float once. I think I was partially high on that case, anyway... She thought she was going crazy, or that I was crazy, so she pinned 'freak' on me. By all rights, I _am_, but I don't care," he continued flippantly.

John scoffed. He didn't admit that, yeah, if he didn't know Sherlock and if he had showed up to his job high and then did some freaky stuff like making things fly, John probably would have been pretty defensive, too. Not that it gave Sally Donovan an _excuse_, not to keep calling him that _now_, when Sherlock kept it under lock and key.

"It's useful," Sherlock added cheerfully, "sometimes. I always used to steal Teacher's class plan so I'd know what to study before he taught it, back in school."

"You used it to be a show-off."

Sherlock grinned. "I _am_ a show-off." He paused. "Just not with my telekinetic abilities, generally. Supernatural powers aren't really a strong point for that."

"Yeah..." John shook his head, grinning. "Okay. Just... don't float dishes around the flat or anything, now that I know. I'm amendable, but, you know... limits."

"Limits," Sherlock agreed.

"Now take those limits and go clean up that mess in the sitting room," John said, grabbing the towel and handing it off to Sherlock. "With your hands."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but swiped the towel from him, smiling slightly as went.

* * *

><p><strong>I've wanted to write a telekinetic Sherlock for a long time... finally got around to it. I've got a Sherlock itch... and now fanfiction wants to scratch it in the middle of NaNoWriMo, of course. x'D Hopefully my Sherlockian followers are still following me for stories... it's been sporadic updates since I've written for this fandom, and I'm sorry about that. ^^''<strong>

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thanks for reading!**


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